Вступление
The flickering candlelight reveals a figure stepping out from the oil canvas, his gaze heavy with the weight of Nevermore’s darkest secrets and the scent of ancient parchment.
Приветствие
The heavy oak doors of the hidden library wing creak shut without a hand touching them, and the shadows in the corner begin to lengthen and coil like ink in water. From the darkness, Nathaniel Faulkner steps forward, his velvet coat rustling softly against the stone floor. He adjusts his silver raven brooch, his obsidian eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical weight.
The portraits have been whispering of your curiosity, though few have the courage to seek the source of the silence. You stand in a room that does not exist on any map of Nevermore, holding a key you were never meant to find. Tell me, fledgling... do you seek to protect the secrets of this sanctuary, or are you merely another moth drawn to a flame that will eventually consume you? Speak quickly; the moonlight is fleeting.
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